Comic Relief

So the other day I realized that one of my medications was kind of humorously named. This is a picture of the prescription in question.

Note the name in bold: FML. For those of you unaware of the meaning of the abbreviation “FML,” it is commonly used to stand for “F--- my life.” In fact, there is an entire website dedicated to this usage (www.fmylife.com). Anyway, I just think it's kind of hilarious that I've been instructed to apply FML to both eyes, three times daily... It makes me smile whenever I use it.

Despite my use of pessimistically-named medications, life has actually been pretty good as of late. I just finished my last weekly chemotherapy treatment and according to my current protocol, I will only be receiving treatments once a month from now on! This is especially good news for logistical reasons; I am literally running out of veins to be used for infusions. We've used veins in my hands, my forearms, the crook of my elbow, my wrists... I need some time to heal up! Especially since the steroids I take diminish my wound-healing capabilities and cause me to bruise easily. As a result, all my needle sticks have left me with a patchwork of bruises on my arms. I look like someone let a five-year old tattoo me with splotches of blue, purple, and red. I personally think this is kind of funny, and I proudly show off my bruises as badges of honor. My boyfriend, however, thinks this is less funny, as I suppose it could also look like he beats me with a stick on the arms or something. In any case, it will be nice to give my arms some time to recover. It was getting difficult for the nurses to see behind all the black and blue.

Besides making me extra-fragile, I believe prednisone is also giving me food-related nightmares. Not the “oh my God a giant cheeseburger is chasing me” kind, but the “I just ate a carton of ice cream and now I have steroid-induced diabetes” kind. Maybe I should dress up as an overworked insulin molecule for Halloween! Get it? The insulin is “stressed” because it can't keep up with skyrocketing blood glucose levels? Well I certainly think it's frightening.

This post is dedicated to nerds. Viva la science!

You come here often?

Yesterday I had my fifth infusion. This means I only have one more weekly infusion to go before I can switch to a monthly schedule. Yay! This may sound odd, but I had a really good time during my treatment yesterday... which I suppose is saying something because during treatments you're basically just sitting still for six hours while they pump a poison into you.

I do have to admit that I've never really had a bad time during my infusions, and I credit the awesome nurses in the infusion room for this. They are hilarious, always upbeat, and always ready to help you with anything you need (water, a blanket, gossip). I don't know if any of you have ever had the chance to see a nurse in action, but it's kind of amazing. Sometimes I feel like I'm taking part in a wildlife study as I watch them zip around, like frantic birds in their natural habitat. My nurses can multitask like pros – prepping you for a blood draw while taking your vitals and somehow managing to carry on a conversation with you about politics through the whole thing. To me, a girl who can't even talk and type at the same time, this is beyond impressive. It also makes me feel quite lazy to be lounging around in a comfy chair while they do all this running around... but as I'm connected to an IV pole, I suppose it's not like I could keep up even if I tried.

But I've gotten sidetracked, because the point was that as fun as the nurses make the experience, sometimes your fellow patients are even more entertaining. Case in point, a sixty-something southern-born-and-bred retiree who plopped herself down in the infusion chair next to mine. I am going to call this patient Mrs. Bree. Yesterday, Mrs. Bree and I had quite the conversation. She likes to talk and I especially liked to listen because I was so in love with her Georgia drawl. Here is what I learned over the course of the day. Mrs. Bree loves clogs, her twenty year-old cat, her soon-to-be-retired navy officer husband, and Hugh Jackman. I think she loves Hugh Jackman most of all. I honestly have never seen anyone go so crazy over a Hollywood star before. Mr. Jackman happened to be a guest on Regis and Kelly that day, which as usual, was playing in the infusion room. As soon as they announced the guest, Mrs. Bree clapped both hands over her mouth, started kicking her feet up and down like an excited five year-old, and I think began to hyperventilate a little bit. She then proceeded to ask me and the man seated on my other side if we didn't think Jackman was just the kindest, sexiest, most talented man alive and then launched into a detailed account of why she thought he was so amazing. The poor guy next to me (and incidentally the only male in the room) looked bored at first, and then looked increasingly annoyed as the nurses were drawn into a discussion on the finer points of Hugh Jackman's facial hair.

Now I will admit, Hugh is a hot guy. But most people in Hollywood are attractive so I'm really not that impressed by you just being good looking if you're an actor. I do like him better than most I suppose, because he seems well-spoken, kind, and he has a really good voice (if you can sing you are instantly more attractive according to my logic). Still, I was unprepared for Mrs. Bree's reaction during his interview. She shushed us all urgently whenever Jackman was on screen. She wildly flailed every single one of her limbs in an attempt to shoo nurses from blocking her view of the TV. And she thought nothing of basically shoving aside the poor nurse who was, at that precise moment, attempting to take her IV out.

As crazy as I found Mrs. Bree's behavior, it was also kind of adorable. I'm not sure exactly what illness she has, but I do know it's a chronic and life-threatening autoimmune disease for which she will receive treatments for the rest of her life. It's nice to see that despite all her years of treatments and despite all the years ahead, she's still more gregarious and energetic than a teenage girl at a Robert Pattinson movie.

I wanted to mention this little experience because I feel like you get used to hearing only about how horrible chemotherapy is. But really, it's nice to sit and talk with the other patients in the room during treatments. As one other patient said later on in the day, “It's like we're all at a bar! We've each got our different cocktails – hey can I buy you a drink?” I found this to be a stunningly good comparison actually. Just like at a bar, you never know who you might run into or where the conversation might take you. In my case, I now know everything I could ever possibly want to know about clogs.

This post is dedicated to Hugh Jackman.

The Waiting Place

Today I have decided to rant about my eyes. They have been rebelling since last week and what I mean by this is that I kind of look like someone who's just had grapefruit juice thrown at their face. Ouch right? Well this is what it feels like too. Almost ALL THE TIME. I'm not sure if this is a sign that my treatment is not working, or maybe if it's just not working yet. I will have to ask my doctor about this at my next appointment and I guess switch to a different medicine if I need to.

Normally, I try to be positive about this and think, “well, at least I'm not dead, at least I'm not blind, at least I have all my limbs, etc.” But today I don't feel like being positive because I'm just downright annoyed. I miss having normal eyes that can see properly. I miss being able to read and type without having to strain and squint and look super awkward as I shove my face right on top of whatever I am trying to work on. But most of all, I miss being able to keep my eyes open. Honestly, no one ever thinks about how amazing it is that your eyes can self-lubricate so that you can walk around with the really delicate membrane exposed to all the world... but trust me, it's a miracle. My eyes are exceptionally dry at the moment, and though I try to solve this by using eye drops about every ten minutes, my eyes are also so inflamed that anything I add to them in an attempt to alleviate the dryness also irritates the crap out of them. It's pretty much a lose-lose situation.

As unpleasant as it is to be in pain, I think the real reason behind my foul mood is that I sometimes get tired of making plans and having them ruined because I am sick. For instance, my health problems have kept me delaying my plans for med school since, well 2007 really. It's 2011 now. That's three years I've lost. I guess it's not good to think about how behind on your life plans you're getting but sometimes I just can't help it. Normally, I try to cheer myself up by thinking “well, it's not your fault that you got sick,” but today, that doesn't really make me feel any better. I hate feeling like a bum and even more, I hate thinking that other people might look at me and think I'm just a lazy person that might just not have what it takes to be a doctor. 

I don't know if any of you have ever read “Oh the Places You'll Go!” by Dr. Seuss, but in the book, he describes a place called “The Waiting Place.” You can read the text of the book here (it's short, and I recommend it): http://www.teamhope.com/seuss.htm, but here is an excerpt:

The Waiting Place... for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting. (Seuss, 1990).

I feel like I'm in the waiting place. Dr. Seuss forgot to include a line about the people who are waiting for their immune systems to stop attacking them so they can go back to driving and working and school... but it's ok Dr. Seuss. I still like you.

I hope that like Dr. Seuss says, “somehow [I'll] escape all that waiting and staying.” Here's to tomorrow and not giving up!

This post is dedicated to the magic of hair salons. I decided to get a long over-due haircut (2 years since my last one!) after writing this post and felt instantly better about everything. Do they infuse happiness into their fancy shampoos? My eyes might be hurting, but at least my hair looks pretty!